


Reactive

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Multi, Slash, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for threesome fan week on Tumblr, my best attempt at some Fenders/M!Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reactive

In truth, the lyrium markings that curled, serpentine, white and delicate, across Fenris’ skin didn’t hurt after they were etched. Often, he didn’t feel them unless he was actively making use of the lyrium, shifting incorporeal or augmenting his strength, and even then it was a good sensation, one of flowing power and freeing grace. It was a curious notion. They made him feel as though they made him not more than what he was, but exactly what he was supposed to be.   
  
Then there was healing magic.   
  
Anders had figured it out first, by accident, and Fenris was fairly certain at the time that if Hawke hadn’t been standing there he would have torn out his heart to keep him from saying anything about it.   
  
It had been a bad wound, something that couldn’t just be healed with a little finger wiggling from a distance. Anders had to touch him—he had to hold the jagged tear closed while he forced himself to tap into the Fade and shift it into Fenris’ body. That was when it first happened. As soon as the magic started to pour from Anders’ fingertips to Fenris’ skin, every single lyrium tattoo flamed to life, numb, sweet, and terribly hot. He wrenched away from Anders so quickly that he fell off of the table he’d been sitting on, landing in an indignant heap on the clinic floor. The apostate had stared, narrowing his eyes and raising a curious brow.   
  
It took years, even after falling for Hawke, even after they fled Kirkwall, before he was willing to let Anders touch him again.   
  
So much had changed by then. Hawke had, in some measure, given him the sparest bit of faith in mages. There would never be more than that, more than that tiny, yet significant shard of respect, but that made the difference.   
  
Once the others had gone their separate ways, it was the three of them, wandering like nomads, settling into a strange, comfortable familiarity where Fenris played willing protector to the two apostates, slept with one of them, and let the other heal him despite the way his traitorous skin reacted to it.   
  
Then it changed, it slipped, and Fenris knew Anders knew and Hawke had learned it from him. They were unnecessarily tender about it, so many statements about  _making you uncomfortable_  and  _you should have said something_ , like he was delicate, like he needed protection from himself, that he just wanted to pull out his hair.   
  
It was worse like this, to have Anders tiptoeing around him, and Hawke acting sympathetic, like it hurt him, like it was anything other than embarrassing. Now he couldn’t even try to get used to it, to let Anders put his hands on him and try not to be angry at his skin for reacting that way. Deep down, he didn’t want to be. It felt  good,  and he wanted to believe that was okay, to have Anders not turn his gaze like he’d done something wrong.   
  
When it changed, they were in some small, nameless town with a small, nameless inn, Hawke and Fenris getting sloppy drunk on cheap ale. Ending up in bed, tugging Anders with them, getting him out of that filthy robe and pulling down his hair, admiring that though Hawke had begun to go grey in the temples, Anders’ hair was still as honey blond as always. Anders lost himself, but not to Justice, it was to Hawke cradling him close, Fenris tracing scars on his thin back, lips finding skin, fingertips leaving hot trails, stubble and smooth, teeth and tongue.   
  
Fenris took Anders hands and put them on him, no words, just a slight nod, and it poured like a flood, nothing needed healing, and the markings lit when they reacted, humming with sweetness and quivering pleasure.   
  
Finally,  _finally_ ,  that was okay, and he could share it like he never really understood he wanted to, put his lips to Anders’ and taste his tongue, move to Hawke and do the same, let them both feel the shiver in his spine, the heat on his hands.   
  
With them, he could be something other than that stone wall, that angry brow, that spark of gorgeous blue.He could carry the taste of them on his tongue as they traveled, keeping their secrets, like they kept his. He could be alive, and touched, and reactive.


End file.
